Jan Bowman

Entry # 209 – An Experimental Nonfiction Piece on WATER

Photo Credit – Jan Bowman – 2013 The Truth About Water Drink up. Water is wealth. Water heals. Mends the cells. Flushes toxins. Drink water from plastic bottles thick with toxins. Bound for recycling or landfills. Water flows freely in our world into sinks, bathtubs and showers. We stand over cleansing basins of water, flushed… Continue reading Entry # 209 – An Experimental Nonfiction Piece on WATER

This Arrow Marks Me

“Lose the breast?” My lips go numb with disbelief. As if I could lose my breast and suffer only the mild regret of leaving my breast, like my favorite pen, at the bank. I am in Dr. X’s office, getting good news and bad news, but right now I don’t know which words are intended to be good news. Words like mastectomy, malignancy, and metastasized wash over me. Words surging, in and out of my head, like ocean tides. I imagine myself rowing frantically against stormy seas. Salty spray runs down my face. The word recovery, repeated, has an odd echo effect that leaves me dizzy.


Charlie drives to work on a narrow country road that he uses as a shortcut when he longs to see green trees and patches of blue sky. Today he’s running late. He’s on his way to drop off his new mini-mall designs at the developer’s office before noon. At the crest of a hill he comes upon a flatbed truck of the kind that hauls lumber or brick. It’s empty and rumbling along the winding road. He glances down to check the time and as he looks up a flash catches his eye. A deer leaps out of brush from the left side of the road and strains to jump over the flatbed truck and misses. She strikes the side of the truck with a soft thump. Her body slams onto the road. He feels the sound of it in his throat. He hits the brakes and closes his eyes. He opens them to see her skid with hoofs rattling along the pavement.

Skating Blind

Audrey skated near the edge of her driveway over a rough place in concrete flawed by a builder’s poor mixture of sand and water. She closed her eyes, rolling blind. Listening. Taking comfort in the sound of her skates and the breeze on her face. The driveway’s rough texture was familiar and reassuring, although her knees knew the sudden feel of it. Even with her eyes closed, she knew where she was. Late-afternoon light slipped in under her eyelids. Pumping her legs, she swung her arms for balance and skated faster, away from the heaviness of a late-August Sunday. Tomorrow was her tenth birthday. School started next week and her mother had spent the afternoon baking her favorite chocolate brownie cake. She smelled the warm chocolate as she skated near the house.

Unnatural Disaster

Appeared in Folio, Winter 1995 I worry about world peace, corrupt politicians, breast cancer, and why water collects in the bottom of my refrigerator. I worry that the odd tingling sensation in my left breast is cancer, or maybe it’s just the beginning of an early menopause. I worry about what has happened to my… Continue reading Unnatural Disaster